


The Prince of Winterfell

by Shyspyder



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Crying, Everything hurts and I am dying, F/M, Gen, Observations, POV Daenerys, S08E03, a bit OOC but oh well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 15:27:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18663163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shyspyder/pseuds/Shyspyder
Summary: The war for the dawn has been won, but there is still much to do. In the midst of all the chaos, Dany lingers for a moment when she sees Sansa mourning her prince.





	The Prince of Winterfell

**Author's Note:**

> Hey pals. Ok so 8.03 happened. Even though I had already had an idea of Theon’s fate after episode 2 and had all week to accept it, I still feel like a part of me is missing. I’m working on some ideas for a nice long self-care fix-it fic, but for now I just needed to jot this one down.

Daenerys Targaryen watched as Lady Sansa stood vigil. 

Despite all of their disagreements, she couldn’t help but remain curious about the Lady of Winterfell. In another world, in another life, perhaps they weren’t all that different from one another. They may even could have been strong allies. 

But in this one, Dany was her queen. 

The battle for the dawn was over. The war for the living had been won. With it, the lives of countless others had been sacrificed. In the end, it was the youngest Stark girl who had killed the Night King. She had only seen her once, when they first arrived. The girl in boys clothing, her eyes narrowed and distrusting. She was as different from her sister as different could be, and yet, Dany had never seen anyone more like the other. And all along, it had been her who had won the day. 

But the time now was for clearing away the dead, rebuilding what remained of Winterfell and their army, and mourning those who were lost.

Dany forced herself to see their faces, just as she had once done in Meereen. One after another, faces blank and bodies covered. Only this time, it was her friends. Her family. The ones she had loved, and the ones who were gone. She had stood vigil for Ser Jorah nearly all night. It wasn’t until duty forced her away that she finally tore her eyes from his face. 

She walked through the halls of Winterfell, the sorrow-filled whispers of the other inhabitants broken only by the sobs of loved ones. Truth be told, Dany had been struggling to see the beauty here. It was a cold place, littered with furs in an attempt to cover the ugly grey stone that blocked the winter winds. But in the end, the thick stone is probably what saved many of them. It still didn’t dampen the grief she felt, when she saw the bodies splayed out before them. Dothraki, unsullied, ironborn, northmen, knights of the vale, smallfolk, and wildlings among both parties. Their dead laid out in preparation for whatever rites their gods demanded. 

For a moment, she had thought about going to Jon...Aegon, she supposed it was now. That was a conversation she would have to have, and sooner rather than later. But there were others to worry about. Like trying to figure out who still lived. Missandei, Grey Worm, Tyrion...she had seen them all only briefly, in fleeting moments between when they burned the dead wights outside the gates. Enough to know that they were alive. But she needed to see again. She needed to be sure. 

She was about to turn outside of the great hall, when something caught her eye. A flash of red hair. 

It was Sansa. She was amongst where the ironborn were laid out. The only one amongst them. Dany recalled how they had all but taken the north during the war of the five kings, and left little love for them behind. Even still, it was an incredibly sad thing, to see them all alone. Save for Sansa, of course. Knelt beside her prince, head bowed in grief. 

She paused for a moment, watching the scene before her. She thought back to Theon and Sansa’s tearful reunion. The hug she had seen was one of desperation, of kinship, and of love. She thought of herself, of Ser Jorah, and when they had seen each other on Dragonstone. Her eyes filled with tears just at the memory of it. 

Another lifetime indeed. 

But no. There was something different about the way Sansa had embraced Theon. They must have been through much together. It was the first time Dany had ever seen someone react positively to reuniting with Theon, much less with tears of relief in their eyes. 

Once more, she tried to recall all Jon had told her about those months in Winterfell. 

When she had first met Theon Greyjoy, she had seen a broken man surrounded by the stories of someone he’d long since been. He didn’t speak much to anyone other then his sister. And even then, it was only when necessary. When Dany asked Yara what had happened to him in Winterfell, the most she had said was that he had paid for his crimes. 

When she was first met Sansa Stark, she found a woman who was as cold as the lands she had been born to. The Stark direwolf was stitched into her furs with detail and precision that Dany could never hope to master, and her calculating gaze pierced her queen with the intensity of all their spears. 

But that woman was not the same one who stood ahead. This woman’s gaze was empty, and blood scattered her stitched furs. There was no emotion, save for just an inkling of utter despair in her eyes. She was watching his face as if she would forget it the moment she looked away. Like she needed to memorize every part of it, or else it would be lost forever. Dany’s mind flashed back to Khal Drogo, kneeling beside him on his deathbed. She disagreed with Sansa on a great many things, this was true, but she was forever grateful that she too didn’t have to smother her love to death. 

“We survived hell together,” Sansa whispered. She must have sensed Dany was there. 

She felt a stab of guilt at interrupting a tender moment. So she didn’t say anything, instead watching as Sansa moved closer to his side, carding her fingers through his hair. Dany stepped forward too. Still, she did not speak. She feared if she did, Sansa would draw into herself. So she let her go on. 

And when she did, her face did not move. Only her lips. “We were both prisoners here. Nothing more than toys for Ramsey to play with.” 

Dany blinked. Jon had told her a little about him. The ruthless bastard of Winterfell whom Sansa had once married. He never told her about what happened to her either. It only just occurred to Dany that perhaps she hadn’t even told him. 

She watched as she swallowed the lump in her throat, eyes still fixed on his face. He looked almost peaceful. As if, for a moment, she could believe that he was still asleep. His curls wrapped around his face, brushing against his forehead. His eyes were closed, and face relaxed. 

Sansa continued on. “But he took my hand and we jumped off the castle walls.” Her throat bobbed. Dany knew she was struggling to swallow her sobs. “He told me he would have died to get me to the wall. To get me to Jon.”

“You loved him,” Dany whispered. “Theon.” 

Her tears were flowing freely now as she continued to card her fingers through his hair. “But he died alone. And all I can think about is how he died alone, fighting for his home.” 

“If it weren’t for him, your sister wouldn’t have made it in time. He saved us all.” She wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to say, but she knew she needed to say something. 

There was a ghost of a smile on Sansa’s face. But as soon as it had come, it had vanished. Replaced by tears. “He deserved a happy ending. More than any of us.” 

She leaned forward, brushing her lips against his own, for just a moment, before pressing her forehead to his cheek. “I should have been there with him. Until the very end.” 

Dany looked away. There was something unbearable about seeing the Lady of Winterfell this way. As if all the strength had been taken from her, left behind in the Godswood to die with her prince. 

She decided to leave her be.


End file.
